


Snuffed Out

by honeynabisco



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: M/M, but not too terribly dark, cannon divergence for sure but not entirely noncompliant, it's still I think largely fluff, so this is a bit vent-y, vague and implied period typical homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29169840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeynabisco/pseuds/honeynabisco
Summary: Looking to the sky, they both silently wished that the world they were born into had made more sense; that what they were thinking and feeling wasn't quite so unspoken of.
Relationships: Quincey Morris/John Seward
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	Snuffed Out

Holmwood had turned down the invitation Morris had extended with earnest apology. He claimed that he could not in good conscience leave his father at the time, and moreover, he was to be entertaining a certainly lovely lady. Morris could understand- not perhaps personally, but well enough. It was fine by him anyway, for he still wouldn't be drinking alone and would in fact be drinking in what he might consider to be the best of company. He wasn't certain of that, but his suspicion of it only grew with each passing moment spent with his old traveling partner. It had been too long since they had done this sort of thing.

Morris had known the good doctor long before he could be called as such. They had met when neither was in his native country and by pure and foolish chance. They were passengers on the same train, coming from Belgrade and destined for Amsterdam. They were not seated exactly beside one another, but were close enough that when their train had been held up by a band of outlaws, for lack of a more suitable descriptor, they gravitated towards one another. Morris had stood from his seat immediately to take some variety of action and Seward had, out of what he confessed later to be purely instinctual shock, stood also. Once Morris had caught sight of him, his pistol was pressed hard into the medical student's hands and he could do nothing but stumble on after the young and impulsive American stranger. Through intimidation and careful maneuvering, the ordeal had ended in not too much blood shed, but Morris had grown instantly fond of the bookish Englishman. Perhaps shell-shocked beyond rational thought, Seward agreed to his proposal that they travel as partners for a time. 

The two of them reminisced about their travels instead of dwelling on their romantic failures as they sat around the fire and drank without much intention to indulge too deeply. Each felt content to remain sober in the company of the other, despite recent heartache. It was a horribly awkward initial few weeks, Seward made sure to note when their first adventures were brought up; filled with silent dinners for two inside too small tents. Morris disagreed. The time they had spent getting to know one another was certainly tense at times, as they had very little in common in terms of hobby or vocation, but Morris knew well that there was something more to them both. He had known from the moment the small and anxious student on the train had on instinct alone jumped to action. They had very much in common in all the ways that could matter. And what of those few awkward weeks spent becoming comfortable with one another? Did they not grow out of that phase into something much more profound than either could have anticipated? Seward sighed to avoid laughing and conceded that he supposed they had. 

"Y'know, Jack," Morris said softly after their last conversation had faded out into a period of pleasant quietude. "I was sure it was you she had picked. She told me there was another- who else could I have thought of?"

Seward laughed strangely, as if the sound was meant to mask some barely repressed tension, "the man she actually chose perhaps? Our good friend and third?"

"Sure, sure, it makes sense now. More sense for that little girl than either of us, for certain. What were we thinking, anyhow? Old men like us… but at the moment… Well, I couldn't imagine anyone better than you."

Seward fell silent and turned away from Morris' gaze, frowning slightly. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but wouldn't allow it.

"You alright, Jack? Didn't mean to poke a sore spot," Morris tried to soothe the clearly ruffled feathers, but he didn't quite figure out what had caused them to fall into such disarray. They stayed ruffled.

"No, no… it's not that. I agree, actually. Mr Holmwood is best suited to give her a good life, I think. You and I might only give her headaches with all our restlessness… I was only… I was thinking."

Morris huffed and leaned back onto his forearms, "you do that a lot, doctor. Ever going to share?"

Seward blinked and then turned back to look at Morris again, smiling for some reason, "I was going to say something kind, you brute, but now I might reconsider."

Morris smirked in return and took the opportunity to jest. Seward was not always so receptive to teasing, "oh? Kindness from my nihilistic, cynical little doctor? My, that would be that day, wouldn't it?"

"It sounds like you don't care at all for that day to come!"

"No, I do. Very much, I do. Go on, tell me. Be kind to me for once."

Seward, despite still looking somewhat nervous, looked also more soft and gentle than he ever had before. He was made up of harsh and sharp lines, but with the slowly dying campfire lighting his barely present smile, he looked warmer than any handcrafted quilt. He lowered his voice slightly to say, "I was rather certain that Ms Westenra had chosen you."

It sounded different when Seward said it. When Morris had admitted the same assumption in reverse, it had been casual. He was merely mentioning some incorrect idea he at one point had that just so happened to be flattering to his friend. Nothing more. Or nothing obviously more. He had become good at concealing his meaning and emotions in the same sentences that admitted to them. Seward, on the other hand, did not often speak casually. His statements had explicit and often direct purposes. He did not speak to fill space or make commentary, he spoke to accomplish something. The thought hit somewhere in Morris' chest and stayed there to keep pressure around his heart. 

"So you did… Fancy that- you and I making the same mistake," Morris said lowly. He didn't sound pleased.

"One is left to wonder what that would say about us both," Seward volleyed Morris' flippant remark with one of his very rare quibbles, but even this seemingly empty statement had a function. He laid back flat against the grass beside Morris to look up at the stars.

Looking to the sky, they both silently wished that the world they were born into had made more sense; that what they were thinking and feeling wasn't quite so unspoken of. It hurt to look up at the dark and speckled world above them, distant and unattainable no matter how beautiful. It hurt a lot more than Morris could have expected. _Why,_ he thought in some pain fueled indignation, _have I been put here and now with him of all people? Why does this have to hurt and be so hard?_ The thoughts swirled in his head and repeated like a treacherous mantra of _why, why, why?_ He could deal with any answer but the truth that there were none at all. The pressure Seward had placed in his chest built and built until it began filled his throat and consumed him. 

"I don't have to wonder," Morris said eventually after his pain had grown too strong to keep locked away. He had to let it spill from his mouth and pry the hurt out of Seward's as well. He pushed himself up to lean over his companion, "I know exactly what it says about us- about me, at least."

Seward blinked up at him, surprised for a brief moment and then growing frightened. He hadn't expected his instigation to have actual effect, or at least he had not prepared for it. He nearly apologized for it- begged for Morris to take it back; to keep his mouth shut. _I shouldn't have opened this box- I shouldn't have pushed you to break the lid off its hinges. Don't do it. I couldn't handle the heartache._ Instead he asked in a meek, frightened tone, "what does it say of you, Quincey?"

"It says that I'm glad- glad that Ms Lucy is getting what's best for her and glad that… that she left you for me. It says that I think so highly of you that I would envy the girl who gets to call you her own. What else could it say about me, Jack, but that I want to be yours?"

Seward panicked, squirming a bit where he laid in the grass, contemplating running away but realizing he would only knock directly into Morris if he sat up. He stumbled through saying, "that you respect me- that you are a good friend to me- that… that… anything but what could hurt you."

Desperately, Morris responded, "I'm already hurt, Jack. Aren't you?" 

"Yes," the word tore itself from Seward's chest as his nervous movements stilled. He fell abruptly and painfully into an acceptance of some kind, "yes and I'm so tired of it, but what can we do but bear it?"

"So logical, so practical," Morris shook his head to clear his thoughts, "I don't have all the answers you want, Jack. I've only got the one. I'll leave it, if you need me to, but I don't want to lock this back into its cage."

"I don't… I don't either," Seward raised his hands to place his palms against Morris' jaw, "later… answers can come later. Kiss me now, Quincey."

Morris did so eagerly, lowering himself to press his lips against Seward's with too much haste to build any more anticipation. Morris felt they had already suffered through more than enough build up. It was clumsy and messy and by no means was it near to perfect. Sparks did not fly. The sky did not suddenly fill with color. The world was as suffocating to live inside of as it always was, but now neither was drowning alone. Better, Morris thought, to fall below the surface of the water with Seward than to watch each other from a distance tread tirelessly to keep their heads above it. Morris pressed closer until his chest was flush to Seward's. He felt his traveling companion's arms move to drape around his neck and then felt a sting behind his nose, warning him that if he was not careful, he would cry. But why should he bother to be careful now? When he pulled back from Seward, only from necessity to breathe, his cheeks were wet. 

"Quincey," Seward breathed, clearly overwhelmed and looking as though he was not entirely aware of the line between imagination and reality, "you're crying."

"Just a bit. It's just been a long time coming, darlin'."

Seward, with a sigh to avoid laughter, supposed that it was.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Quincey. I project onto Seward. I thought: you know how Quincey is partly characterized by masculinity and being emotionally reserved - or should I say laconic? I would love to make him talk a lot and cry. Also, I very much did not want to take away from both of their love for Lucy, but I might have inadvertently done just that... The dynamic between all four is complicated and very interesting, I think. I think Quincey would be to first of the suitors to question marrying a nineteen year old when he's roughly thirty. He's just got the best morals, I think. I head cannon Arthur being the youngest suitor and Quincey being the oldest with Seward in between. So like, 26, 29, and 30-32.


End file.
